


Round 47

by Marahuy0



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Amnesia, Blood and Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), Gaslighting, M/M, Manipulation, Memory Loss, Mentioned Elias Bouchard, Mentioned Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Nipple Licking, Possessive Behavior, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Martin Blackwood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:07:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25854070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marahuy0/pseuds/Marahuy0
Summary: "That's alright, I'll take care of you. You're very lucky to have me you know?" Peter teases, his hand comes back to cup Martin's cheek, stroking it with his thumb.Surely, Peter is only joking but it stings all the same, the shame rising to his chest. Martin leans into his husband's hand and can’t help but agree. He's lucky to have Peter. He's lucky to have anyone.OrPeter lives and Martin is lost in 170.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Peter Lukas
Comments: 19
Kudos: 75





	Round 47

**Author's Note:**

> Language used for Martin:
> 
> -> breast, chest, tits  
> -> cock  
> -> cunt

It's cold.

The bed is too soft. It lets his spine sink and curl to an uncomfortable degree. Too many pillows are cradling his head and his neck aches from it. The thin silk blanket that cover his naked body do nothing against the morning chill, _and it was so very cold._.

He opens his sore eyes (had he been crying?) and watches as his breath come out in puffs, mixing in the with the fog that stretches out into the large room. Did he leave the windows open last night? must have.

There is an awful feeling of dread in his stomach that slowly blooms outwards, until he is breathing rapidly. His eyes dart around the expansive room looking for something and wanting to escape something else. Why can’t he remember?

He can’t be here. Martin knows this. He can’t stay here. he needs to move, to run away from... Where is he, where is --

The single-minded desperation to escape trickles out of him as he sits down. The feeling of terror is still there, ever present but muted. He sits in this large uncomfortable bed and feels every sorry twinge in his sore body protest and cry out. The worst is the dull pain in his upper left thigh. Examining it reveals a scar, still tender red to the touch but healing quite well. He wonders how he got that.

Martin sinks further, as if his bed wanted to gobble him up, telling him to lie down once more. He kicks the thin blankets off instead and climbs out of bed. The cold marble floor making contact with his bare feet sends a chill goes up his spine, giving way to a full body shiver. Where were his slippers?

He pads his way across the room, towards the ornate dresser. Opening it wields no clothes, nor do the drawers. Even the pristine marble bathroom is odd. No towels or any toiletries. 

_"So strange_ " he thinks as he splashes cold water at his face, and there is only cold water. No amount of fiddling with the knobs help. Did he forget to pay the heating bill? Must have. 

He looks around the strange bathroom. _His_ strange bathroom and wonders why he bought this place... because this is his place isn't it? Must be. " _So strange_ " he thinks again, watching the cold droplets of water dry into his skin, freezing him all the way to the bone. _Why doesn't his bathroom have any mirrors_?

Martin wraps his arms around himself as he exits the bathroom and explores the large bedroom further. South of his extravagant bed is a sitting area with an unlit fireplace. Here he is triumphant. His glasses are on a small oak table and a large white cotton dress shirt is laid across the back of the settee beside it. 

He puts them both on. The bottom of the shirt barely reaches his mid thighs and every time he moves his arms, the shirt would ride up, showing his arse to the world. Lovely... No, that won’t do at all.

Martin strides back to his uncomfortable bed and pulls off the thin blanket. He folds it in half and wraps it around himself, tying it across his left shoulder. A useless blanket but a decent enough toga. 

Content with the level of decency he's able to reach, Martin turns to leave but freezes and stares at the side of the bed, at the little space between the bed and the dresser. Without thinking Martin crouches down and reaches in to pull out the mirror shard. The fragment isn't very big, maybe two inches long and jagged to a point. The edges are streaked with red. Blood?

And isn't that the strangest thing? He stares at his tiny reflection looking back at him. He remembers hiding it there. Remembers the frantic need _to_ remember that he hid it there as his hands shook. Martin doesn't remember why but he takes the case from one of the dozen pillows, wraps the shard and pulls it close. He doesn't remember but he Knows he needs it.

Armed and attired, He opens the dark double doors that lead to a large empty hallway. the large arched windows showcase nothing but a sea of deep curling fog, casting the hallway in a grayish tint. The mist is thicker here and so much colder. The terror he felt when he woke up starts to creep back in.

"Hello?" Martin calls out; his voice echoing back is his only reply. "Is anyone here?" The Fog seems to react to that, growing stronger. The ends of the hallway itself seem to meld into nothingness, another punch of alarm builds up in him as he cradles the shard to his chest. Why would anybody be here? Stupid. He's alone. He’s always been alone.

It takes him a few seconds to realize that he's running now, every step feels like it is inviting the mist into him, settling in his lungs. The fear is heavy on his tongue. Something is wrong, _Something is wrong..._ He’s not supposed to be alone, is he? he has some one...he supposed to be going somewhere, He has to find him, He needs to find J-

"Martin?" a familiar voice calls out making him stop in his tracks and Martin nearly weeps. He turns towards it and a man is standing there, the fog wrapped around him, moving slowly like its caught in an orbit. The relief of another person drowns out the trepidation that spikes in his head at the sight of him.

He is larger than Martin, graying hair and beard. Flat green eyes stare at him in concern. "Martin, why in the world are you running?" Martin flushes at this, He had been a tad silly, running around like an army of man-eating worms were after him.

"P-Peter! What are you doing here?" Martin asks instead, watching the older man come closer. Peter's grip on his arms is even colder than the ever-present fog, but another humans touch is so grounding that he can’t convince himself to shake the older man off. On instinct he hides the wrapped mirror shard behind him.

"Do you mean in the hallway?" Peters says, that familiar teasing tilt hanging off his words. He truly is infuriating when he's like this. Never one to give him a straight answer.

"I live here too Martin; Surely I'm allowed to be in the hallways "

That isn’t... That isn't right, but as he looks around things start to make sense. He can't afford such a large house. a Manor. Peter is a Lukas, Of course! But even as the pieces start to slot together, he feels the size of the puzzle in his mind grow even larger, stranded in the middle, he doesn't know where the edges are.

"I don’t... I don’t understand" Martin stammers, “Then what are we…what am I doing here?" he finishes in a rush, feeling so very out of depth and even more so as Peter's eyebrows furrow in concern.

"Oh Martin" Peter sighs as he takes the younger man’s wrists and brings it up to his lips, giving it a small peck. That's when he sees the matching gold bands on both of their ring fingers. His has a tiny black stone at the center. That wasn't there before, he's sure of it. He stared at his hands while they dried. He would have definitely noticed then.

He tries to snatch his hand away, shivering from the small kiss, But Peter's grip simply tightens. This isn't right; _He is not married_. Martin tries to breakaway but Peter doesn’t let him, his other arm wraps around Martin's waist, keeping him in place.

”Hush now, tell me what you remember" Peter murmurs gently, closing his eyes and placing Martin's hand on his cheek. He looks so sad and tired that Martin can't help feeling guilty.

"No. no... I’m not- I’m not married Peter!"

"Yes, yes you are" Peter firmly replies, tapping Martin's wedding band. "You are Martin Lukas; you are thirty three years old and you live here in Mooreland house with me" He opens his eyes to stare down at Martin, looking like a man who's had to do this again and again.

Martin wants to argue, wants to back up the sense of wrong he feels in his gut but realizes that there is no evidence to the contrary, while everything points out to this reality. He knows these halls and that bed. He knows Peter's body, pressed up against him like he’s suffocating, knows how cold his lips are on his.

"I don’t understand...why don’t I remember"

Peter leans forward to kiss him on his forehead as his arm drops from his waist and starts to rifle through his coat pockets. He procures a small orange bottle with a cyan lid.

"Must be your medication Love " Peters says shaking the bottle for emphasis, the tiny white pills clacking together, " although you’ve never been this bad before, perhaps this one is giving you nasty side effects. Your memory loss has never been this.... drastic "

Martin wants to argue that doesn't make any sense. No medication should have such an extreme effect on his memory. The words die on his lips and he remembers little fragments. Countless times where he wakes up in a panic and Peter gently holds him and explains. Patiently telling him where and who he is. Remembers how Peter would make love to him, kissing every inch of skin on his body until he's crying out from sheer pleasure. Martin blushes at the thought, ah yes, the bruises on his hips makes sense now.

"Which medication is it? can -" He quietly asks but Peter quickly snatches the bottle out of his reach

"I don’t think that’s a good idea Martin, considering..." Peter trails off but and he recalls sitting on the loo at his old apartment and being so tired of everything, shakily dumping all of the blue pills in his hand as he sobs and-

"Ah y-yes" Martin stammers, that’s probably for the best. Peter simply smiles at that, the picture of an understanding and devoted husband.

“Now…What’s this then?’ Peter lightly chuckles, gesturing to Martin's impromptu toga.

“Oh... OH! I woke up you see...and I couldn’t find any trousers... O-or pants for that matter… And I suppose—Hey!” Peter makes quick work at untying the knot at his shoulder, the fabric falls off his body like a show before he can catch it, the cool air making the hair on his body stand and his nipples harden.

“y- you can’t just-”

“Let my husband walk around our home in a blanket?” Peter finishes, raising a bushy eyebrow , clearly enjoying Martin's discomfort. Yes, he definitely Knows Peter. The prick.

“I couldn’t find… any trousers” Martin repeats helplessly, tugging the fabric down, trying to hide his bare thighs from the older man. Peter just laughs again “And I'll get them for you, after I bring you back to bed, you're in no state to be walking around”

Without the mass of bunched up fabric, Peter finally notices the pillowcase Martin has clutched in his hand, All of the older man's previous amusement seems to snap like thread at the sight of it. Peter straightens his back and looms over him, like a parent looming over a naughty child caught red-handed.

"Martin" Peter says , his voice taking on a dangerous edge, brooking no argument. "Give...that to me". 

Martin shakes his head, looking around like a cornered animal. The fear that's been simmering in him is now bubbling over. He needs to leave but before he could do anything, Peter's arm shoots out to grab his wrist, pinning it over his head and then moving forward to crowd him against a wall. His husbands grip is merciless, and he lets out a small whine as the pain makes his hold on the shard slip. There are tears in his eyes as Peter catches the bundle and promptly tosses it across the hall. The mist swallowing the only weapon he has. Martin feels even more naked now.

Peter does not let up, continuing to box Martin in, His face merely a few inches away and he can feel Peter's breath against his skin. "Martin" he breathes out, gaze pinning him down like a bug. "What were you going to do with that mirror piece?"

How did Peter know it was a mirror? He didn't even look at it.

"I j-just... wanted to feel safe?" Martin stammers out, the guilt rising tenfold as he questions why he needed to be carrying around a weapon in the first place. This close, he can’t help but think Peter's eyes are as empty as the rolling fogs outside his windows. 

Peter stares at him for a few more seconds, searching for something before his face cracks, that odd look of sadness returning. "What if you hurt yourself? " the older man murmurs, taking a step back and giving Martin some room to breathe. "I'm sorry Martin... I was just worried; you know how you get sometimes-"

"No no! That was all me" Martin's placates, the need to take responsibility feels like an old coat he's worn for so many years. " I was being strange! I'm sorry Peter" The last thing he wants to be is a bother. The older man smiles at this, trailing a finger down Martin's cheek in almost reverence

"That's alright, I'll take care of you. You're very lucky to have me you know?" Peter teases, his hand comes back to cup Martins cheek, stroking it with his thumb.

Surely, Peter is only joking but it stings all the same, the shame rising to his chest. Martin leans into his husband's hand and can’t help but agree. He's lucky to have Peter. He's lucky to have anyone.

Peter leans in close to kiss him on the lips, swiping a cold tongue against the bottom in a casual display of affection. Martin feels mortified at the tiny moan that he lets out. This is his husband he tells himself ; He’s allowed to like this. Martin lets out an undignified squeak as Peter leans back and effortlessly lifts him up, carrying him bridal style down the hall.

“Peter! Put me down!” Martin demands, mortified beyond belief, the scar on his thigh twinges and his shirt has ridden up. His backside is on display as the older man walks back towards the bedroom “You can’t ju-”

“Are you going to fight me on everything today?” Peter snaps, the cold tone returning and it instantly shuts him up. He knows that tone, remembers hearing it from a tired old woman who never wanted to be a mother. It makes him curl up in Peter's arms. The older man must have felt it because the he sighs and places another kiss on his temple. “Please Martin, just stop being so difficult..." thoroughly mollified, Martin lets himself be carried.

* * *

Peter places him on the bed, rearranging him like a doll before the older man takes off his shoes and joins him. He takes Martin into his arms, tucking him in under his chin. There is no blanket now and so he curls up against his husband, looking for warmth. He finds it in Peter's chest and Martin presses his face against it, listening to the man's heartbeat. They've done this a million times before he thinks, breathing in the smell he knows so well.

He knows Peter. Knows... how in love he is ... with his boss... yes that's right. It’s the first concrete thing he knows without a doubt. Knows that feeling, all-consuming and heartbreaking, carved into his very being. He knows that he'd forget his own name before he'd forget how much he loves... his boss.

And Peter was his boss.

Wrapped up in the only truth he is sure of, Martin presses a small kiss against Peter's neck and finds joy when the older man shivers and melts. _I love you_ he thinks as he leaves a trail of kisses all the way to Peters lips. _I love you_ and he knows even the fog can’t take that away.

"Where were you this morning?" Martin mutters against Peter. He knows that his husband is usually there. Remembers how sometimes he wakes up so wet while Peter is playing with his body. That's his favorite way to be woken up he recalls . He blushes at the thought again. _We_ _are married Blackwood, get a hold of yourself!_

Huh, Its Lukas now isn't it? the thought makes him giddy even if it still has an undercurrent of rot. He's wanted this for so long he thinks. Belonging to someone.

"Had business with the Big boss, found his pet snooping around my property, had to bring it back" Peter replies, pulling up a tad as he looks down at him intently before smiling. 

"Don't worry yourself with that now. I won’t be going anywhere anytime soon. and isn't that a grand thing!" the older man exclaims. Chuckling as he brushes his hands down. all the way to Martin's bare thighs, tracing his sensitive scar and then onto his bottom, grabbing the muscles of his arse. Martin lets out a series of noises he'll deny the next time Peter brings it up and he knows Peter will bring it up.

"I get to stay with you, you nearly gave me a heart attack. Running around the halls wailing...Are you a ghost? White sheet and all?"

Martin groans and buries his face in his hands but he can’t stop the small giggles that make it out. “Oh God, please stop. I was cold alright? "

He looks back up to see Peter relaxed, grey hair sticking out and half lidded green eyes staring at him with fondness. His husband is very handsome he thinks but he knew that the first time they met. He’s not used to the attention and so he stares at his hands again.

"I didn't have any trousers and in fact I do recall the promise of said article of clothing!" Martin playfully shoots back, Loving these quiet moments. The affectionate quips, Fingers running through his hair , how Peter has the darling habit of info-dumping whatever his brilliant mind supplies him at the moment. Like the cross-continental Ant War or god forbid Emulsifiers.

"And I can’t believe you're asking me if I'm a ghost again" Martin laughs, He loves this man more than words could say " You’re such an idiot Jo-" He stops mid-sentence. The voice in his head telling him to Run is louder now. He can feel Peter stiffen at that, hands around his waist tightens slightly. He looks up to see Peter's blank expression , green eyes staring at him for a few seconds before it slowly melts away, and then he gifts him another empty smile.

He sits up at that but Peter follows him, hugging him close from behind, legs on either side of him. Between the sinking bed and Peter's arms he feels trapped. He turns his head and stares at Peter from the corner of his eyes. There he is again, green eyes just staring at him. Waiting for something. His eyes...

"I thought..."

"Yes love" There is no indication of anger in Peter's tone, but he’s well acquainted to danger from his time working for the institute. Knows that this is the same feeling he felt when Jane Prentiss was knocking on his door. Prey.

"I thought... you had brown eyes..." Martin finishes lamely, He remembers those eyes on his first day at work, glaring at him, demanding he find that dog. Waiting for those eyes to open in a sterile hospital room. Martin thinks about the brown eyes guiding him out from the fog and taking him home. He doesn't understand. Peter relaxes at this, the hold on him lessens but still not letting go. He kisses the back of Martin's neck and it’s so familiar but it’s wrong its wrong its _wrong_ -

"Are you thirsty Martin?" Peter suddenly says, cutting through the rising panic in Martin's head.

"I-uh Wha-what?"

"Are you thirsty?" Peter repeats but he's already leaning over him to fetch the glass on the nightstand beside them. When did that get there?-

"Oh umm... n-not particularly... parched right now...thank you though" Martin says awkwardly but the man brings the glass to his lips anyways. The water rushes down, splashing his face from the sudden movement.

"Drink" Peter says, voice low and dangerous, as he tilts the glass, forcing Martin to obey. The first gulp feels like ice shooting through his body, chilling him to the core. The water flows too quickly, He can’t swallow fast enough and he can't help the jolt and yelp as the water drenches is body. Its so cold that he feels like he's burning. Most of it spills down his shirt, soaking the fabric. Once the cup is empty, Peter takes the glass away and places it back on the table as Martin sputters and coughs and shivers.

"I'm sorry Dear, how clumsy of me" Martin hears his husband say. The fog is strong all around him, almost as thick as the hallways. His nipples are hard, almost painful and his thighs are wet, the freezing droplets trailing down onto the bed. The fog feels like it’s in his brain, His mind is a haze. He feels so cold and lost.

"I'm just trying to take care of you, why can't you see that" Peter mutters, hands trailing upwards, over his belly and stopping right under the swell of his breasts. Peter cups them both in hands, His breasts look obscene in Peter's grasp, the shirt has become translucent, clinging on to his curves, his pink nipples poking against the damp material. 

Martin can’t help but moan as Peter starts to knead, the sensation is strange between the roughness of the damp shirt and the older man’s large hands. Peter cups one breast and brings it up before letting it go, making it bounce, playing with his tits like he owned him.

"Peter Please don’t-" Martin lets out a sharp cry as Peter twists a nipple between his fingers, the sensation goes right to his cock, making him buck.

"There he is" Peter chuckles in his ear " there's my darling Martin" Peter doesn't stop.

His fingers trail to his shirts collar and tugs it down, snapping the first few buttons off, the sudden movement making his breasts push up against it. "You're beautiful you know that?" The man mutters into his neck, Hot and wet. The praise burns him even more.

He’s helpless as Peter goes to unbutton the rest then pushes Martin down until his face is to the bed, arse up. Peter makes quick work of the shirt, Tying his arms with the sleeves. He yanks him by his hair, cradling him back to his previous position. Vulnerable in Peter’s arms.

"Peter, I don't think-" Peter shoves his fingers in his mouth, pressing down on his tongue while his other hands goes back to fondling his now bare breasts. Martin can’t help but to moan around those fingers and arch, pushing his wet tit against Peter's hand. 

"That's it, just be good for me." Peter says as he bites his neck, Martin can feel Peter's erection nestled between his cheeks, grinding up against him. When his husband takes out his fingers, Martin can offer no protests but moans.

His mind is empty except for the mist and Peters hands roaming the hills and valley of his torso. He can only whimper as he looks down to see Peters large hands cradling his heaving chest. What was he so anxious about again? It feels so good.

Peter takes one more bite of Martin's bare shoulder before he turns the younger man around and pushes him on his back. Martin's bound arms behind his back makes his spine arch, tits raised up like they were an offering. An offering Peter graciously accepts as his mouth is on him in a flash.

Martin lets out a long keen as Peter suckles, the man’s tongue circling around his nipple before lapping at the tip. Peters other hand is fondling his other breast, playing with it before giving it the same attention with his mouth. Martin loses track of time, he’s only aware of the mewls and whimpers that come unbidden from his lips and Peters cold mouth ravishing every inch of skin on his torso.

Peter leans back with a self-satisfied smile, gazing down at him. "Look at you" Peter says as his hands travel down, one finger dipping into Martins folds, he bites his lips to keep the scream that bubbles up from his throat. "So wet for me.

He raises his hand to show him exactly what he means, A thin line of slick stretches between his cunt and Peter's coated finger. The older man raises his finger to his lips, tasting before leaning down to let Martin taste himself. Peter kisses him deep and filthy. One hand rubbing at Martin's cock and the other pinching his sore nipples.

Martin kisses back, drunk from everything that Peter gives him, pressing against his husband’s palm, trying to chase his pleasure. _He's so close._ Suddenly Peter pulls back, and Martin can't explain away the needy whine that comes out of him.

"You know the rules, don’t you Dear?" Peter says as he unzips his trousers, taking his thick cock into his palm and slowly stroking it as he ogles Martin's trembling body. "What’s rule number one ?"

Martin knows he should deny him. Should try his best to scramble off the bed and find... find someone, but his gaze is glued on Peter's hands as he moves it up and down his large cock. His mouth waters at the idea of it inside him. He Knows it feels good inside him.

"Please" Martins starts, Hundreds of memories telling him what the answer is. They've played this song and dance so many times now that always ends the same way. The idea of answering him is mortifying. He tries to rub his legs together but Peter pries them apart. The cool air dancing along his wet cunt and he can’t think "Peter please, don't make me say it"

Peter looks up, as if to really think about it before shaking his head. "Now Martin, do you want me to leave? Because I can just fuck those pretty tits of yours and leave you here... Maybe you'd like that, we've certainly done it before ".

He recalls how Peter bound him to the glass coffee table by the fireplace, how he moaned and beg for Peter to touch him while the man sat there watching him for hours with a bottle of rum in his hand. how his slick made a puddle on the table... dripping down onto the hard floors, How Peter came on his sobbing face and left him there for what feels like days. Martin cries at the memory and quickly shakes his head.

"I am going to ask one more time... What’s rule number one?"

"I don't come unless it’s on your cock!" Martin sobs, wanting the bed to finally swallow him whole. "Yes, that's right! " Peter says jovially as if he isn’t making Martin lose his mind. "Now remind me what Rule two is"

"I h-have to ask nicely for you to f-fuck me" The tears in his eyes are freely flowing down. Is this really his life? Was this all he ever was? It certainly feels like it. Even after it all he’s so grateful Peter wants him. He doesn’t want to be alone.

"Perfect! Manners are particularly important to us Lukases you know? Well go on!"

And so, Martin does. He begs for Peter to fuck him, to hold him down and ruin him. Begs Peter to not leave him, not in this large empty house. He promises to be a good and obedient husband. All the while Peter is tracing his wet folds with his cock, rubbing his entrance, letting his cunt quiver all around his prick.

"Who are you?" Peter says as he holds onto Martin's hips, cock right at his cunt.

He knows the answer to this too "Martin Lukas" he whimpers, just wanting it all over. He can barely see Peter smiling down at him through the tears.

"And to whom do you belong to?"

"To you" and Martin believes it. "I belong to you"

"Good boy" Peter says and thrusts home. Martin comes the moment Peter slides into him, Filling him up. He realizes after a time that he's screaming, clenching around his husband's cock as Peter keeps driving back in. He wants more, God help him he wants more. And is that such a bad thing he thinks. We're married, aren't we?

Isn't this a good thing? He isn't suffering like everybody else in this broken world. No, all he has to do is playhouse, spread his legs and lay like a broken doll whenever Peter leaves. Wait for him to come back so he can exist again. 

**"Had business with the Big boss, found his pet snooping around my property, had to bring it back"**

_Jon_.

As everything rushes back in, Martin moans and stares up at Peter with big eyes, He arches even more, making his tits jiggle from every thrust. "Peter please... " Martin face is red but he makes sure that he looks oh so enticing, his voice sweet and submissive " Please suck my nipples sir".

Peter grins wider and leans down to do just that but at the last second Martin angles his shoulder into Peter's face. Hard. There is a satisfying crunch of bone, but Martin doesn't waste another moment as he scrambles from underneath the older man, kicking all the while trying to get down from the bed and run. 

Peter recovers quickly and grabs Martin by the hair just as his lovely spouse is at the edge of the bed. Martin screams in panic and rage as he is tugged back into Peter's arms.

_"Good Morning Martin_ " Peter purrs in his ear. He tries to kick, to bite but Peter tightens his grip on his scalp and bashes Martin's skull against the headboard. Once and then twice.

Peter props him up against the headboard, turning him so he's facing the older man as he slides back into Martin's aching hole, making the younger man hiss from the intrusion. Peter's hand is around his throat while the other is wrapped around him, keeping him in place. Not that he needs to, Martin is too dazed and in pain to move away.

Martin feels a trickle of blood running down the side of his face. He knows this wont kill him, his captor won't let it. Peter's face comes into focus a few seconds later, Martin's only consolation is the sight of blood dripping down from where his shoulder broke Peter's nose.

"You just know how to keep my blood pumping don't you?" Peter laughs, looking thoroughly delighted as he slowly drags his length out of Martin only to brutally slam back in. The man in front of him is a monster. Gleefully drinking in his pain and fear, thriving in this hellscape. He wonders if Peter Lukas even has a soul.

"Go to hell!" Martin spits out and tries in vain to get out of the man's hold. He already knows he's lost yet again. His eyes land on the tiny spot where he hid the mirror fragment. He remembers it all now, how he barricaded himself and broke the mirror. How he dug that shard into his thigh so Peter wouldn't notice it as he fucked Martin into the bed as punishment. Remembers how he had to pleasure Peter with his mouth to get the opportunity to dig the shard out and stash it. All wasted now he thinks, tears flowing even more in frustration.

"We're all in hell already dear, that boyfriend of yours made sure of that" Peter laughs, bouncing him on his cock faster, tightening his hold on Martin's neck. Gasping for air, Martin bucks his hips, mouth opening in a silent cry as Peter thrusts into him. The bed shakes from the force of their fucking. The headboards slapping against the wall as Peter pins him to it by his neck. 

Martin's eyes are half open as the man continues to use him, the fog and the lack of air making him more pliant. Peter releases his hold and the younger man falls forward and sucking in a deep ragged breath, leaning against Peter's shoulder, whimpering from his captors brutal thrusts.

"W-where is he?" Martins gasps, closing his eyes to block out the onslaught. "Where did you take Jon?"

"So that's what gave it away!" Peter exclaims, tonguing the blood at Martins temple. Martin lets him, what’s one more painful sensation to add to the list? "Don't worry darling, I'll be more careful with my words next time. You won't remember a thing"

"Where is h-he?" he sobs, Martin leans back to look Peter in the eye. He has to know where Jon is. "Please"

"With Elias of course! I thought that was fairly obvious"

"Where?"

"In that creepy tower of theirs I presume; you know the one. Tall ugly thing off into the distance? Very ostentatious... And I’m saying that as a Lukas mind you ." Peter says conversationally as he forgoes licking at the blood on Martins face and starts lapping up at his tears. "Elias sends his love by the way. He’s incredibly grateful for your help " At this Martin jolts up. _What?_

"Don't you remember Martin?" Peter smiles, a cruel edge to his grin, clearly having waited to deliver this punch line. "How the Archivist found his way here, in our domain looking for you, _trying to save you._ " Martin shakes his head, no that can't be right. He has no memory of Jon in this place. It's only ever Peter. He's lying. _He has to be_. 

"You were a darling that day! You screamed so sweetly for me when you saw him, a stranger trying to take you away" Peter leans in close, mouthing at his jaw, his blood mixing in with the sticky red on Martin’s face. "He was so easy to bring back to Elias after that, I do believe you broke him that day".

It's too much and with a cry he's yelling out Jon's name, trying to escape Peter. The older man simply grips his hips tighter, locking him in place, thrusting up and Martin sees stars.

" I think that's why I was so sure you wouldn't regress like this even if I left. Ah but no matter, we'll do this all over again. As many rounds as it takes!" Peter promises, licking the shell of his ear, his cruel laughter ringing in Martin's head "let's see how long it will take you to forget him this time".

Martin fights with everything that he has. He has to find Jon; He has to find him before he forgets. Peter roughly spears Martin with his cock, leaning down to take a nipple in his mouth, biting the sore nub. It makes the younger man wail the Archivist's name even louder.

_"I need you."_ Jon said in a place where there was only cold and fog and barely anything of Martin left. Jon needs him but Martin can't even find himself.

"You - You are Martin Blackwood." Martin says, closing his eyes, trying to block Peter out. He won’t forget, he can't. " Yes. You, you didn’t choose to be here. Jon is coming." Because Peter is lying. Jon has never been here; he would have remembered. _"Please find me"_ he thinks, trying to keep his memories from tumbling out his fingers _. “I can't do this on my own... I never could”_

"Is he?" Peter taunts back, picking up speed. Martin grits his teeth against the sensation, of Peter's cock filling him and claiming him. Thrusting against that exact spot inside him that makes Martin's toes curl.

"I am Martin Blackwood" He repeats even as his last name comes out ever so softly, Martin Lukas warring with his reality, making the edges blur "and I am not lonely anymore, _I am not lonely anymore._ " Peter no longer needs to pin him in place, he barely has any strength left. The fog coming to take away even more pieces of himself. He pulls everything in him to speak and not just be a moaning mess for Peter's enjoyment.

"Then why are you here?" He doesn't know.

"I want to have friends; I - no, I have friends. " 

"All dead now dearest” 

"I-I’m in love. I am in love, I will not... forget that; I will not forget. "

_Jon_

Jon is the only one left. The only reason to keep fighting. The only truth he knows and _he can't forget him again._

"Yes, you are!" Peter amicably agrees, licking at the tears blurring his vision. Peter's next thrust is deep and angled just right. Martin's body sparks to life with a cry, the younger man jerks upward only to press back down as his hips stuttered randomly at the sensation. Peter comes inside him with a deep groan, mouth finding his until Martin follows him into orgasm shortly after. They both collapse onto the bed, Peters cock still pulsing in him as they both try to catch their breaths.

"I... I am Martin B-blackwood" Martin says weakly, dazed and boneless. Curly hair in a dissaray, Chest and neck a blooming assortment of bruises, Peter's seed leaking out of his wet, ruined cunt. Tears are streaming down his face, flushed with pleasure and shame. Thoroughly debauched. "I will not forget. I am Martin Blackw-"

Peter doesn't have say anything else to that, the fog is already wrapping around Martin, making his speech sluggish, eyes glazing over. Peter gently turns him over and unties his arms, using the shirt to wipe away Martin's tears and blood from both of their faces. He pushes up sweat soaked bangs that obscure his view of Martin's eyes and waits.

He smiles down at the exact moment Martin Lukas' eyes focuses and forgets. Reaching for one limp hand, Peter kisses his husband’s wrist as the game start anew.

**Author's Note:**

> This just in: The Lonely has no hot water. Truly the worst domain.
> 
> Also Peter's tiddies are the only warm thing about him. Pass it along.
> 
> Come talk to me on Twitter @PillowPhilo ,, I've got art of menaced men!


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